A My Private Coney project Flash non-fiction, brief moments and old memories of a city and mother's emotional and physical real estate disappearing at the speed of heartbreak.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
An Untitled Day - Part II
Later I force her use the walker we just got her because none of us are strong enough to hold her up anymore. Especially when she does that I- gotta- sit- down- collapse- on- the- floor thing. That walker is our safety net. It has a chair and it can hold her weight on its arms better than me or P. or G. She is pissed off about having to use it but does what I tell her and grabs the handles and starts shoving herself through space. I shout all the right things like You Have to Get Your Strength Back and You're Doing Great and Let's Go You're Strong.
She's as bad a driver as me and neither of us can get the walker through one doorway and into another without banging chairs, walls, the secretary desk thing, bookcases, and more chairs.
I put on THE PARENT TRAP with Lindsey Lohan because I don't have anything left inside to watch SINGING IN THE RAIN for the thirtieth time I just don't. There's nothing left inside.
THE PARENT TRAP is a miserable movie for both of us. She can't follow it because there is no music to take her through a familiar story and while I wince at the bad writing and crude acting, but marvel at the young Lohan, I answer Florence's repeated questions about the title the plot the actors the title the plot the actors the title the plot and soon it's over ...
...and I surrender and put on SINGING IN THE RAIN and Florence begins to sing furious each and every note and soon to hell with Gene Kelly where ever he is in the song, she motions me to join in and I sing along with her "... in the rain, what a glorious feeling..."
MY PRIVATE CONEY presents IT WAS HER NEW YORK, the short stories that accompany the work-in-progress video and photo collection of the same name (myprivateconey.com - media link - IT WAS HER NEW YORK). The stories and the media explore the tender rubble that holds both my mother, Florence's and New York's soul as one disappears into old age and the other into gentrification. All are real observations and/or experiences with very little tall-tale telling.
Except when it makes the story better.
Please visit myprivateconey.com for additional information and sample works.